Oswauld! In a poem!

I require a burning fire
To light the tea trips and tree tips
Tongues wagging words wobble
Greedy warlords soldiers gobble

Rampartshackle this the hacketh blue
I'm as old as the hills and older than you
Smiling my teeth a black rotten mass
It pays to stay in the dentists gas mask

Over-ruled denying conscription
I'll waive my anon farce with the help of a petition
And yet the staved starvers asked to sign last
Will refuse to scribe muttering 'I'm not the lower class'
And so the olive drab masses chained and braced
Are forgotten tucked away,
In some vague forgotten place

When shoeless feet moved at a much calmer pace.